Don’t get yourself in a
pickle — communicate!
 By John
Ryan
This week I worked at a conference on teenage pregnancies. Apparently
openness and communication are the keys to reducing the teen baby boom.
I thought I would test this as my eldest boy is off to his first proper
party tomorrow. Although he is sensible I thought we should have The Talk.
“I am too young to be a granddad,” I said as he looked at
his feet. I decided to tell him about a party I attended aged 15. It was
at a mate’s house.
Me and the lads were immediately mesmerised by a stunning girl in a white,
very tight vest. Her skirt twirled as she danced in a puddle of drool
made by every boy in the room. She was a goddess and I knew I would have
no chance with a girl like that. In the stakes of love she was Harrods
and I shopped at TK-Max.
As I entertained myself by seeing how many ice cubes would fit into my
mouth in the one go the lads discussed in graphic detail what they would
do with her. My tongue went numb and piercing shooting pains from my frozen
teeth went up the side of my head. I ran to the sink to get some water
and accidentally bumped into her.
“Horry!” I said unable to get my lips to move, “Hive
hot hoo huch hice hin hy houth.”
I pointed to the ice hoping it would make sense. She laughed and I imagined
what our children would look like. My lustful stirrings immediately gave
way to seeing how many pickled onions I could hold in the space between
my lips and my teeth.
The lights dimmed. “Here we go lads, watch and learn!” said
my mate as unbelievably the goddess walked toward us. All the lads stood
taller as if this would help them catch her eye. I was at this stage trying
to dislodge a small pickled onion from my nostril. It had seemed a good
idea at the time. Anyhow I was aware of a commotion and looked around.
“Well?” The goddess was in front of me and I looked at her
through my one good eye as the other was full of tears and pickle juice.
Through the haze I could see the outline of a body that looked like it
had been designed using all the bits of every perfect girl on the planet.
“Come on!” She said as she took my arm. I thought maybe she
was an optician’s assistant and had recognised my distress. She
led me to a corner and pushed me against the wall. As the music slowed
she proceeded to dance, more against me then with me. It certainly helped
the stinging in my eye go away.
She laughed, danced and teased me. Actually she teased every lad in the
room as I was far too busy trying to hide the pickled onion in my hand.
All my Christmases had come at once. I was the star man, the king, the
pope and the emperor.
My mates were gobsmacked. Such was my shock that I imagined newspaper
headlines being written as we swayed: “Halfwit with frozen gums
cracks it with Miss World”.
The dance ended and I said thank you, having enjoyed my moment of glory.
As I walked off she pulled me back and insisted I dance with her again.
Across the room my mates were baffled. It was as if they had seen a space
ship. We danced, well she danced. I stumbled and after turning away the
fifth guy that had tried to butt in she decided we needed some air and
I should walk her home.
Me! I forgot all about my plans to eat a jar of gherkins. My friends gathered
to congratulate me. She put her arm through mine and her sister came over.
“So you two finally got together then!”
I was baffled. She blushed. It turned out that we were in the same class
at primary school. Now I recognised her but I couldn’t believe that
this beauty was the same girl.
“Oh my word, Dawn Francis!” I said.
She blushed, smiled and kissed me.
“She has had a crush on you since she was five!” Her sister
announced.
I could not believe it. It was like a film plot — “Beautiful
girl is reunited with pickled onion-flavoured childhood sweetheart!”
She squeezed my hand and said: “I have waited for you to talk to
me for ages.”
She whispered that I was on for a night to remember! I could feel the
jealousy from every boy in the place. She stepped back and looked into
my eyes. “I didn’t think you would remember me!”
I blushed. “How could I forget you!”
We kissed and it was perfect. “Hang on!” I broke away as a
memory came back. “You gave me headlice when I was seven!”
I felt her pull away. She looked around the room for a friendly face.
“Yeah, really itchy they were. I was off school for a week! What
a small world.”
Unfortunately she wasn’t as impressed by my recollection. I could
see her eyes welling and my night disappearing. Her sister called me a
name I can’t repeat and stormed out in tears. I never saw her again
and never lived it down.
As I explained this to my son I was aware of his disbelief. I pointed
at him. “So stick to the pickled onions till you are ready for women,”
I said trying to sound wise.
He turned to his mother: “Please tell me this isn’t hereditary.”
I stood impressed with my powerful speech. Finally he spoke: “I
don’t like pickled onions.”
In that moment I realised that boy is indeed ready for manhood. See, communication
and openness really are the key.
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